Fantasy
by The Ultimate Otaku
Summary: Unrelated slashy drabbles about Blaise    Draco wishing they were together. Best last. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**FANTASY**

**A set of Blaise/Draco HP drabbles**

by The Ultimate Otaku

It was impossible NOT to be distracted. Every time the shadow moved across the table, he had an urge to look up. Every time that slim hand slid across to grab a frog's leg, or a pygmy puff tongue, or ginger root, Blaise had to resist the urge to stare at it. Finally he got caught staring and that silky smooth voice snapped, "Why do you keep looking at me, Zabini?"

Blaise lifted his head up, glaring back at the blonde Slytherin. "Because I can, Malfoy. And just because I can slice my roots better than your cronies can aim and piss doesn't give you the right to steal my potion ingredients. Back off."

The blonde huffed, glared, and was silent the rest of the lesson. When it was over, the boy tossed Crabbe his bag, and stalked off. Blaise stood up, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He glared at the insolent smirk that the blonde sent his way, and purposely strode to the opposite door to avoid bumping into the snot.

After sitting through an hour or so of Arithmancy in which Granger raised her hand far too many times (again), Blaise shuffled off to the dungeons to get an hour of sleep before dinner. He hadn't been sleeping so well lately. The dreams kept waking him up. He was tired of falling asleep and waking up with his heart pumping and the sheets tangled around his limbs. He was tired of having to excuse himself from Quidditch games and missing the endings. He was tired of seeing Malfoy everywhere he went. Why did the obnoxious prat have to look like such a good fuck?

Blaise had tried to shake it off several times. But Malfoy had grown taller over the summer, and years of being Seeker had made his body lean and toned. It was hard not to look when he took off his shirt before disappearing behind bed curtains at night. Blaise remembered when he had seen Malfoy in a fencing match last summer. That was how it had all begun. His newest stepfather had brought him to the event in hopes of shattering his cold indifference.

Blaise had watched, unknowing of who was fighting, as one person had repeatedly defeated several opponents. He watched as the figure moved effortlessly across the floor,

parrying and countering with smooth, quick movements. The sleek musculature of Quidditch players had always attracted Blaise, and he had recognized this conqueror as such. As the duels became more and more vigorous, Blaise had found himself losing breath. This young man, this fencer, was fascinating. The movements of his body alone were enough of a seduction; Blaise needed no name, no prerequisite, all he knew was that he wanted that body for his own satisfaction.

Then he had seen Lucius Malfoy in the crowd, and when the tournament ended, realized the second place person he had been watching was Malfoy Junior. The fates were against Blaise, to give such a beautiful boy such a nasty attitude. Every time a word came out of that boy's mouth, Blaise wanted to vomit. It wasn't because of the words Draco said; it was the way he said them. Blaise could understand pride, sure. He was a Pureblood, too, and a Slytherin. But the

way Malfoy was so eager to prove himself, it disgusted Blaise. Why not be content knowing you were better than the rest? That was enough for Blaise. He didn't understand why the Malfoy always wanted so much attention.

The dreams of himself entangled with that lithe body had been torturing Blaise for nights on end. He wanted them to stop. He wanted to hate Malfoy, or not care about him, like he had before. But it was impossible. At every turn, the boy was there, and his beauty was distracting. The gentle slope of that neck would grab Blaise's eye in Potions, and he would lose his concentration. The graceful movements on the broom during Quidditch...the pale skin when the shirt was off...the way Malfoy's voice would purr low when he was saying something especially nasty...they all made Blaise lose his composure and want to pounce on him.

He knew that Malfoy was no stranger to sexual advances. The boy had girls from Slytherin fawning over him all the time. Blaise had seen that look in Malfoy'seyes, of purpose, when a younger student would deliver a message telling Malfoy he had a visitor. Blaise watched carefully from his dark corner in the common room. As far as he saw, Malfoy never had male visitors. He would silently lead his guests up to his room, and shut the door, and lock it. And that would be that.

Blaise burned in agony when he heard the click of that door shutting. First of all, it meant he would be banned from his own dormitory for the night. Secondly, it meant he'd have to imagine the two of them entwined...the girl in the place he should be in...those pale hands of Malfoy's, were they soft, or rough? Blaise liked to imagine that the Malfoy secretly liked it rough. That he would hit Blaise until his body was numb, or that he would enjoy the cold cruel kiss of metal around his wrists. Blaise liked to imagine a lot of things.

_Please tell me what you think! And if you have any Blaise/Draco fics to recommend, I'd love to read how these two are written together._


	2. Chapter 2

FANTASY

HP Blaise/Draco drabbles - somewhat old

by The Ultimate Otaku

2

"Pumpkin juice."

Blaise waited a moment for the drink to appear. When it did, he gulped it down thirstily. This was what he got for staring down and across the table at the delicious boy sitting there. How such a prat could be so beautiful was beyond him. It was quite unfair. He watched as the blonde leaned forward, his big cronies Crabbe and Goyle on either side. It sounded like Malfoy was talking to someone about Quidditch. Blaise didn't play Quidditch personally, but he appreciated the fine bodies that the sport produced.

He watched as the boy got up, and waited a while. He waited till the blonde had disappeared around the corner, and then got up. Blaise walked in the shadows as he followed the blonde down the corridor back to the Slytherin common room. He walked past the boy, who had since sprawled himself out on the couch and was reading a book. It was rare to see Malfoy reading a book. It wasn't lack of intelligence, he was just too busy bossing everyone around to sit down and shut his trap.

Blaise paused at the stairway, looking at the beautiful boy laid out on the couch. He watched as the long pale eyelashes fluttered, and then the slim fingers turned a page. Each blonde hair was perfectly in place, the boots waving in the air absentmindedly. A few buttons were open in the collared shirt, revealing pale skin. Blaise looked away, and walked up the stairs. He threw himself on his bed, and shut the curtains.

Damn his hormones. Every time he looked at Draco his body pleaded to possess the blonde. He wanted to fuck him every time he saw him. His mother had told him that it was about time he started finding a woman to dally with, and Blaise had given her an indifferent stare and said, "I hate women."

It was true, he did. Blaise found no attraction in himself for women, and after seeing his mother kill off each of her many husbands, his revulsion for them was settled. He didn't have anything against murder; he just hated the way his mother was. The way she was fussy about everything. The way she preened herself. The way she heaved her chest at him and said in a syrupy voice, "Blaise honey, would you be a dear and get my hat for me from over there?" And she would wave her hand at him, and he would get the urge to blast her head off with his wand.

Blaise got to lurking in the shadows because he was always trying to avoid his mother at home. She was delighted anyway, when he told her he was spending the summer with friends. Every time he said that – as he had the last three summers – she was happy. She didn't want him around, anyway. She was too busy on her conquest for the next husband.

Blaise swallowed, trying to get the image of Malfoy on the couch out of his head. He wanted to be able to control himself. He wanted to not care about Malfoy at all. But the boy was delicious. He was arrogant and could be overly temperamental, and he acted like a whiny bitch sometimes. But ever since Blaise had seen the boy on a broom at age sixteen, he had wanted him. Now Blaise was in his 7th year, and it was high time he stopped thinking about, stalking, and memorizing the every curve of the Malfoy, and finally did something about the desire that filled his body at nights. He was losing far too much sleep over this.

He turned over on his stomach, reaching under his bed for the book that he had gotten from the library the other day. So far the spells in it were interesting, but not enough to distract him from his need. Just last night his mind had wandered to Malfoy again as he read about a spell involving the hair of a blonde man, and he had spent his dreams entwined in the arms of a mysterious lover that looked all too familiar to the fantasies that Blaise often engaged in.


	3. Chapter 3

FANTASY

A collection of Blaise/Draco drabbles

by The Ultimate Otaku

3

**_INVERVESCO – to boil, become hot_**

So there he was. Yes, Draco had seen him before. And who hadn't heard of his mother? The woman slaughtered a new husband every year. It wasn't January if you hadn't yet heard about Mrs. Zabini's latest homicide.

Draco sat down on the arm of the couch, looking down at the boy sprawled out on the couch below him. The youth was tall, but in a slender, non-gangly way that didn't resemble the clumsiness of Weasley. His hair was a wild mass of dark silky curls, and his skin a rich, exotic olive. Draco had seen the boy at various Slytherin meetings, seen him talking to Snape after Potions, and seen him at the Yule Ball years ago, skulking in the shadows with a drink for company.

But why this boy would gather the attentions of Pansy, Draco didn't understand. The boy was quiet and studied in the library, and picked fights with Granger over who would read _Hogwarts, A History_ next for the seven-thousandth time. Not that Draco didn't mind getting Pansy off his back – she was ALWAYS around, ALWAYS whining, ALWAYS leeching onto him – but he thought he knew the majority of his House. Now this Zabini came along, and Draco could only draw up blanks about the other boy.

It was Seventh Year. Winter Break was going to come in a week or so. Draco looked out the window at the snow falling. The Slytherins were either studying, or drinking, or doing homework, or maybe the younger ones were battling with the Gryffindors out in the snow. Draco was bored, and it was only when he walked downstairs and found his couch of choice occupied that he decided what to do. He would figure out the mystery of Zabini.

Draco stood up from his perch, and walked around to sit on a large chair by the fireplace, a ways off from Zabini's feet where they hung off an arm of the couch. The boy must be very tired, Draco surmised, to look so ruffled. His robes lay in a jumble on top of a bag that looked to have a few heavy books in it, and a couple buttons of the white shirt the boy wore were undone, one missing. Draco raked his eyes over the form, noting the dragon hide belt, and the way the shirt was lopsided just enough to reveal a patch of dark skin and the jut of the slim boy's hip above long winter trousers.

Suddenly Zabini moved in his sleep. Draco picked up his book, watching from over his book's pages as the once-sleeping form sat up.

Zabini grunted in pain, touching a spot on his head tenderly, and lifted up his shirt to reveal a dark purpling bruise on his right side. His eyebrows were furrowed as he slowly sat up more, and twisted in one motion to face forward, towards the fireplace. A groan of pain came with the quick movement. He hadn't noticed Draco yet. Draco watched as the boy slid his boots off and threw them in his bag. The dark head of hair shook and the boy stood up.

Suddenly those piercing eyes, silver and gold and green and blue all at once, met Draco's gaze inquisitively. The voice from that full mouth was rich and melodious. "What are you staring at, Malfoy? Haven't you got any little toddling Gryffindors to harass today?"

Immediately Draco regained his composure and his fearsomeness. "Well if you knew any better you wouldn't be loitering in the common room like you own the place. I'm simply sitting here trying to get some peace and quiet and you just have to interrupt it with your grouching. Besides, I can look at you if I want to."

Zabini smirked, and stepped even closer to Draco. Draco found himself captivated by that dark gaze as Zabini leaned over him, and the book fell from Draco's hands as the Italian's elbow nudged it neatly.

"If you're looking after your precious Pansy, don't think I'll steal her from you. She's of no interest to me; I don't care for extracurricular sports with women."

Draco raised a brow. So that was how it went with Zabini? Interesting. Draco purposely raked his gaze up the other boy's form again, licking his lips at the shameless way Zabini put himself in front of Draco. Those hips were slender, the shoulders broad but not too broad, the tight pants hugging every curve, and that shirt revealing skin so smooth looking that Draco wanted to touch it. Zabini's lips were full and wetted, tongue sliding over them as he assessed Draco in much the way Draco assessed him. The chin was delicate and girlish coupled with long eyelashes. There was certainly beauty there, waiting to be tasted and claimed. Draco ran his tongue over his teeth once more at the delectable sight, and then met the other boy's gaze challengingly.

A low purr came from Zabini, and Draco had a feeling that the kidnapping of Pansy's attention had been a ruse to attract his own attention. Zabini looked like he was just waiting to be ravished. What a slut.

The weight of the book was suddenly heavy and irritating as it lay over Draco's thighs. He didn't make a move to budge it, though, for it served to conceal his inklings of arousal. Draco lifted his hands up and placed them on the other boy's arms. Slowly his fingers slid over the white cotton of the shirt, like the pincers of some predatory animal grasping its prey. Zabini laughed, flashing sharp teeth, and stepped back, yanking his arms up.

Draco's hold was immovable. The taller boy's yanking simply forced the blonde to stand up, and he looked up at Zabini with a self-satisfied smirk. They were only inches apart now. Draco could feel the growing speed of Zabini's breathing.

The brunette turned away from Draco abruptly. He picked up his things, throwing them over his shoulder, and with one more look at Draco, he walked down a stone corridor deeper into the dungeons.

Draco released the breath he realized he was holding, grumbling and massaging the tense lock from his shoulders. He stood up, and left the dorms to find some high entertainment to distract from the bubbling need arising in him.

The book was the only testimony that anything at all had happened, lying neglected and wrinkled on the floor. Hours later, Pansy picked it up, recognizing it as one of Draco's favorite books. She put it into her bag, sniffing in curiosity.

Later it was, "Draco, why did you leave your book in the common room?" and "Draco, what's wrong?" and "Draco, do you have to be so unresponsive?"

And the answer was, "Yes. I haven't found anyone worth talking to yet."


End file.
